Mamma's Boy

I woke up later than usual today, because I was out later; eating ice-cream and smoking knees and shoulders, drinking beer. Me and my boy Crayon had ventured out into bat country. I woke to find Häagen-Dazs wrappers strewn about my apartment like empty cicada shells. There was chocolate too - dark chocolate, filled with tetra-hydra. I was alone, on a deserted island full of deserted desserts. I dragged my Robinson Crusoe ass out of bed and stumbled over my Rip Van Winkle beard, almost falling over. In my kitchen there were spiderwebs hanging from cobwebs, and the spiders had starved. How long had I been asleep?

Then I checked my email. There was a message from my mother. She'd taken the time to write me a story about the day I was born, on account of my upcoming birthday. It must have been a magic day for her; 12 hours of labor; pain, worry, and relief; happiness and fulfillment. The idea of my body opening up and dropping a little screaming person out of it is something I cannot fathom. The closest experience I've had is taking a wide shit: a booty baby.

I began thinking about what it must be like to have a child move away across the country; to have someone that literally grew inside you, living on the other edge of the continent. It must induce a persistent low level anxiety. A feeling of helplessness, an inability to protect. A mother's love is a powerful thing. As a boy, it is your first introduction to the animal that is femininity. She instills in you the warming touch of closeness, kindness and love. Empathy.

If you're lucky, she's the first, and only, woman who will ever truly love you.